


Back in the Days (Four Years Ago)

by soobiscuits



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: #4YearsWithEXO, Gen, written to get the OT12 feels off my chest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soobiscuits/pseuds/soobiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which on their fourth anniversary, Sehun still finds himself believing that "We Are One!" is not meant to said by nine members, but twelve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back in the Days (Four Years Ago)

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because I wanted to take a respite from my other writings. This also happened because I've been known to chase after plot bunnies with a vengeance that does nothing good for my brain. 
> 
> Happy 4th anniversary, everyone! 
> 
>  
> 
> Crosspost #5.

On the day that celebrates EXO’s fourth year as a boy band, Sehun gets a fever. 

 

“Darn this,” The youngest curses, a hand adjusting the cold, wet towel on his forehead while the other attempts to reach across the space between the couch and the coffee table for the remote control. He gets it and immediately changes the channel after realising that perhaps watching  _ Catching Fire  _ on one of the movie channels wouldn’t help his current predicament; he feels like he’s already on fire, what with the numerous comforters that Joonmyeon’s wrapped him up in before he left with Minseok to grab some dinner. “The heat is killing me.” 

 

So, while an episode of  _ Pororo  _ is playing in the background, Sehun manages to caterpillar-crawl himself to the space between the kitchen and the living room without slamming his head against any furniture (which is a feat considering how cramped and messy their dorm is), and proceeds to unroll himself until he’s lying atop a single comforter while the others are spayed all around him. Sehun feels accomplished, and he pumps a fist in the air before getting up and gathering all the comforters into his arms. Dragging the large pile behind him, Sehun heads towards each room and deposits the respective comforters, saving his and Joonmyeon’s for last since their room is the farthest from the dorm’s common spaces. The distribution just makes Sehun sigh, for  _ wow I was wrapped in twelve comforters seriously Joonmyeon-hyung?  _

 

His mind doesn’t realise his mistake until he plops himself down onto the couch, eyes lazily dragging past the television console and resting upon one of the several photo frames that the boys have placed. It’s a natural reflex — one that every EXO member has come to develop due to the number of members in their group — that has Sehun counting the faces present in the photograph. There are nine.  _ Huh _ , Sehun frowns,  _ didn’t I count twelve comforters just– ah.  _

 

_ Shit.  _

 

Sehun lightly smacks his forehead when the realisation of his mistake dawns on him, only to cringe when he finds himself still feeling feverish, and he quickly leaves the comfort of the couch to search for the towel that fell off him when he rolled himself onto the floor. Slapping the now cold and wet towel onto his forehead, Sehun lies sprawled on the couch once again, and he would have, under the lull of the music that Pororo and his friends are currently dancing to, drifted off to sleep if not for the sudden  _ beep  _ coming from the door. 

 

“Tch, who the hell got the passcode wrong this time…” The boy mumbles to himself as he reluctantly stands, hand coming up to secure the towel on his forehead, and makes his way to the door where it’s been  _ beep _ -ing for far more times any of his group mates can get the code wrong. (Jongin currently holds the top record of being locked out at an impressive count of twenty-two.) Sehun’s about to open it, when  _ ding _ — the idiot (whoever he is) has finally entered the correct passcode. The door swings outward, and Sehun finds himself face-to-face with one person he’s resigned himself to never be able to see again. 

 

“Oh, hey, you’re awake.” 

 

The youngest openly gapes with his eyes blown wide, and he allows himself to be lightly pushed aside as the person strides into the apartment, for somehow the shock that came instantly after laying his eyes upon the person’s face seemed to have overwhelmed his senses. Sehun returns to Earth when he feels warmth enveloping his hand and a chill suddenly assaults his forehead. He sees a fond smile, feels warmth spreading across the crown of his head as a large hand ruffles his hair, and hears the sound of the towel being thrown into the sink. 

 

“Your fever seems to have subsided, so you don’t need the towel anymore.” Then Sehun hears the sound of water. He walks towards it, stopping when his bare feet feels the difference in flooring. “Unless Joonmyeon comes back in a while and insists on keeping it on you, then so be it.” The figure turns around, and the smile has grown to a grin. A gummy grin. “Otherwise, you’re deemed to be fever-free by Kris the doctor.” 

 

_ Kris. Kris-hyung.  _

 

“So, go watch television.” 

 

_ No. Yifan. He’s Yifan now. _

 

“The others will probably be back with the stuff soon.” 

 

_ Yifan-hyung. _

 

“Last I checked the chat, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol have bought the cakes while Baekhyun, Jongdae and Jongin are still at the supermarket. Minseok and Joonmyeon are still queuing for who-knows-what, and Yixing–”

 

“Why are you here?” Sehun blurts out, the question surfacing in his mind as it contemplates its next course of action at the sudden appearance of someone who shouldn’t be in Seoul, much less  _ here _ , in EXO’s dorm, the home that  _ he  _ had given up for more opportunities the company couldn’t provide. Sehun can’t come up with probable reasons for Kris’ appearance, so he can only attribute to the fact that he’s dreaming.  _ I’m hallucinating _ , he thinks,  _ the fever’s damaged my brain.  _

 

Yeah, that’s gotta be it. Sehun’s dreaming, dreaming of the impossible because  _ shouldn’t he be in China _ but he’s here. Kris– no–  _ Yifan  _ is right in front of him. He’s standing in the kitchen, dried towel in hand, looking as though he’s been staying in the apartment for the past two years. He looks as at-home as much as Sehun does.  _ But how? How does he look like he belongs here when– No. That shouldn’t be the pressing question. It should be–  _

 

“Why are you here, Yifan-hyung?”

 

It’s Yifan’s turn to be shocked. His eyes grow bigger and his mouth opens slightly, giving his usually-handsome facial features a comical look. It doesn’t stay for long, for Yifan pushes away his bewilderment to retort, “Why shouldn’t I  _ not  _ be here? And since when do you call me  _ Yifan _ -hyung?” 

 

“B-Because you–” Sehun stammers, a single finger coming up to point at Yifan, who’s withdrawn himself into a defensive stance of arms folded across his chest and a hardened expression on his face. “–you’ve quit–”

 

_ Ding.  _

 

“We’re home!” Joonmyeon’s voice travels through the space between the front door and the kitchen and just barely manages to break the silence that had descended upon the two persons standing in it, their faces looking similar, expressions formed the same, yet different in the reasons for forming such looks. “We’ve got the pizza and chicken and–”

 

Joonmyeon stops short, the smile on his face drooping slightly when he sees both Yifan and Sehun staring at each other. It’s then does he finally feel the weird atmosphere lingering in the kitchen. “What’s going on? Why does Sehun look like he’s about to murder somebody– and  _ yah _ ! Where is the towel that’s supposed to be on Sehun’s forehead!?” At this, Joonmyeon bustles into the kitchen, pushing past both of his members to set the bags onto the countertop before snatching the towel in Yifan’s hand and wetting it. He’s about to rush towards Sehun when Yifan finally speaks. 

 

“Sehun’s crazy,” He gives the mentioned boy a look, as though horns have grown out of his head, before darting his eyes to Minseok, who looks downright confused with the situation, then at Joonmyeon who’s too worried about the absence of the towel upon the maknae’s forehead to be confused. Yifan sighs at the sight of EXO’s leader forcing the towel onto Sehun’s head, but nevertheless, he continues, “He was spouting some nonsense about how I’ve quit something.” 

 

“Quit what?” Minseok asks, turning to the youngest. “Sehun, what is Kris quitting?”

 

“EXO.” Sehun unabashedly answers, his hands pushing at Joonmyeon’s. Joonmyeon seems to have made it his life's mission to ensure that the forehead of his youngest charge is glued to a wet towel, for no matter how Sehun squirms and blocks, his hyung’s hands always seem to be able to find a loophole. Sehun doesn’t give up. And he also doesn’t give in to everyone’s dumbfounded expressions when he adds, “Yifan-hyung quit EXO two years ago, just before we had our first concert.” 

 

If the atmosphere isn’t so charged and tense, Sehun would, no doubt, find the sight of his hyungs’ slack jaws and open mouths extremely hilarious and amusing. The bugged-out eyes on Joonmyeon’s face could very well be the funniest thing the leader’s ever done (both intentionally and unintentionally). Hence,  _ where is my phone when I need it? _ Unfortunately, the atmosphere doesn’t allow for fun and games, so Sehun promptly dismisses those inappropriate thoughts and arranges his expression into a solemn and unamused one.

 

Yifan manages to snap out of his bewilderment, and immediately thrusts his hands wildly at Sehun. “See? He’s crazy! Mad!  _ Why _ would I quit EXO!?”

 

“Because you thought you were going to die from–”

 

“Die? Me dying!? What the–”

 

“Stop–”

 

“–heart something something–”

 

“–a heart attack–”

 

“Stop–”

 

“–I don’t know that  _ something something  _ but–”

 

“– _ oh my god  _ what fucking nonsense–”

 

“Stop–”

 

“–you left anyway–”

 

“–are you blabbering about–”

 

“I SAID STOP!” 

 

Joonmyeon bellows, effectively shutting up both Yifan and Sehun who literally jumped a foot in the air upon hearing their leader’s rarely-heard yell. His bugged-out eyes remain, but the confusion and shock swimming within have been replaced by a new and seldomly-seen emotion. Sehun gulps, fear suddenly washing over him as he takes in the vehement shake of Joonmyeon’s shoulders and reddening face.  _ Shit. Shit, shit,  _ **_shit_ ** _.  _ Joonmyeon doesn’t raise his voice when he doesn’t have to, instead choosing to intervene by going between the quarreling ( _ thank goodness they don’t fight _ ) parties and physically stopping them without wreaking havoc upon his precious throat. 

 

Sadly, Yifan and Sehun are just exchanging petty blows with each other. They aren’t even looking at each other, eyes darting all around, never focusing on a single object. So Joonmyeon knows that his usual tactic is pretty much useless, which just means that he has to use the  _ other  _ option. Ugh. 

 

“What is up with this senseless quarreling!?” Joonmyeon (tries to) shout, but it comes out hoarse and rough, and he sees both members wincing at the strain he’s putting his throat through. He hopes they feel guilty. “You’re behaving like children! So fine, okay, you want to behave like children? I’ll  _ treat  _ the two of you like children.” 

 

Joonmyeon turns to Yifan. “You. Go help Minseok in the kitchen now, and I don’t care how much you say you don’t like fried chicken,  _ you  _ are going to help him with whatever he wants to do with it.” At Joonmyeon’s stab of a finger towards the kitchen and Minseok’s back view, Yifan slumps and obediently follows his leader’s orders. Minseok greets him with a hard thump on the back while the smug smile on his cherubic face warns Sehun of the terrible times ahead for his tallest hyung. 

 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Oh Sehun.” 

 

“I–”

 

“You’ll be washing the dishes, if any, when the celebration is over.” Joonmyeon instructs, his expression hard and Sehun gulps, again. The expression on Joonmyeon’s countenance is foreign to him, since his roommate always has been forgiving and caring towards him, letting him off the hook for the mischief he’s done because  _ he’s young and reckless and hard teachings will only backfire _ . (Sehun always notices everyone rolling their eyes whenever their leader recites that.) So when the furrow of Joonmyeon’s brows and downward tug of the corners of Joonmyeon’s lips are all he can remember of his actually-angelic leader as he collapses on his bed (for Joonmyeon had sent him to their room until the celebration starts), Sehun knows he’s gotten himself into serious trouble. 

 

“But, seriously,” He murmurs. “What the fuck is going on?” 

 

_ Why is Yifan-hyung here? _

 

_ Why did Minseok-hyung and Joonmyeon-hyung look at me as though I’ve gone insane when I told them that he had quit being one of us?  _

 

_ WHAT IS HAPPENING OH MY– _

 

Sehun doesn’t get to finish his train of thoughts, for the sandman has arrived and he dutifully invites EXO’s youngest to the land of dreams.

 

(Sehun, sadly, doesn’t dream of anything because he’s  _ weirded out as fuck _ .)

  
  


\---

  
  


Sehun rouses to painful stabs against his sides, and fully wakes up when his eyes register the identity of the person whose pretty face is all he sees the moment his eyes sleepily open. The first thing he does, or second, actually, since he has to inhale, is let out a bloodcurdling  ~~ and feminine ~~ scream courtesy of the amount of air his lungs have taken in seconds before. The action is definitely unexpected of someone who has just woke up, and the confusion is clearly expressed on the person’s face as he hastily scrambles away, bumping into Joonmyeon’s coat rack that’s hazardly (and weirdly) placed between their beds. 

 

“When they told me that you would go ballistic should you see me, I didn’t believe them, but  _ wow _ , you really  _ are  _ crazy.” 

 

_ I’m not the crazy one _ , Sehun immediately thinks,  _ you are. Because– _

 

“What are you doing here,  _ Lu Han-hyung _ ?” 

 

In Sehun’s eyes, Lu Han looks (and  _ actually has the nerve to! _ ) scandalised as the youngest’s words echo in the room. His wide eyes are staring at Sehun as though he’s suddenly sprouted a moustache or beard or whatever weird thing Lu Han’s probably imagining in that empty mind of his. In fact, Sehun wants to admit, sometimes he thinks that his  _ ex _ -favourite hyung ( _ now _ -favourite being Joonmyeon) only thinks of two things — ways on how to impress Minseok and being a best friend to Yixing. Oh. And soccer. Yeah,  _ and  _ soccer. 

 

So it’s no surprise when Lu Han deadpans, “To wake you up in case you want to catch the televised soccer match with us right now, duh.” Then he frowns. “Are you sure you don’t need to visit a doctor, Sehun? Because you’re behaving really strangely and I know it’s not your fever acting up.” 

 

_ I’m not the strange one _ , Sehun immediately thinks once more,  _ you are _ .  _ Because _ –

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in China right now?” 

 

“China?  _ Why  _ should I be in China…?”

 

“Because you’ve quit EXO!” Sehun yells, pushing himself off his bed and towering over Lu Han who’s slowly straightening his posture to match the younger one. The Chinese male looks exactly like what his fans always say about him on a daily basis, what with his large eyes and perpetual innocence etched on his face — a deer in headlights. Lu Han’s mouth is unattractively wide, as though he wants to retort something but can’t seem to find words to say. So Sehun does it for him.

 

“Because you’ve been falling sick more and more often than you should, and you’ve  _ finally  _ had enough of travelling on flying machines that might just suddenly break down and send us all spiralling down to our watery graves below.” The youngest’s voice becomes nothing but a whisper then, but the ominous tone drapes itself around the room like party bunting and banners taped to the walls. Except that there is no celebration; there is only accusation and confusion. “That’s why you left us. Left me.”

 

Sehun lets out a shaky breath, and flits his eyes upwards to Lu Han’s face. He doesn’t look like a deer in headlights anymore. Those bright, round eyes are now dimmed and downcast, and the opened mouth is now pursed tightly, corners slightly tugged downwards. Lu Han’s downtrodden expression isn’t foreign, and neither is the sombre mood, especially during preparations for their comebacks where  _ everyone  _ is on edge and easily angered, but Sehun doesn’t want to wish this upon his hyung even if (in his mind) he’s not a member of EXO. Yet, Sehun can’t find it in him to break the deadening atmosphere.

 

“I…” Lu Han finally speaks, but his eyes aren’t lifting up, head not tilting upwards. His words vanishes on the tip of his tongue, and Lu Han closes his mouth shortly after. Sehun finally notices the wringing hands of his hyung. To Sehun, this behaviour  _ is  _ foreign, though he’s certain Lu Han has done something similar elsewhere, just not in his presence. It’s then when an emotion, not entirely unfelt before, unfortunately, hits him.  _ What the hell are you doing, Oh Sehun.  _ The mysterious emotion spreads within, filling his senses with its purpose and Sehun finds himself stepping forward, arms circling his  ~~ ex- ~~ favourite hyung. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude, so mean. I didn’t mean to be so… crazy. Yeah, I didn’t mean to go  _ ballistic  _ on you. If it helps, I take everything back. I retract my words, everything I’ve said. Everything.” Sehun rambles, half-knowing that his words probably sound like a string of incoherent babbling because he feels more remorse — yes, the emotion — surging through him as he pulls Lu Han closer, fingers wrapping around thin sides, his chin resting on a bony shoulder, cheek grazing warm skin of a side of neck. He suppresses the bout of glee rising when he realises that the elder hasn’t pushed him away. 

 

Though, it’s Sehun who breaks apart first. 

 

“Let’s go watch that match, Lu Han-hyung.” 

  
  


\---

  
  


To Sehun’s credit, he doesn’t even let his grin falter when he sees Zitao. 

 

The youngest of the China line has  ~~ stubbornly forced ~~ draped himself across the laps of Minseok, Joonmyeon, and Yixing. He’s resting his head upon a large cushion that’s propped up on an armrest of the dorm’s largest (and only) couch, and his eyes would have travelled from the bowl of chips in Minseok’s hands to the screen if not for the entrance of Lu Han and Sehun. Zitao leaps off his hyungs’ laps and into the arms of an unexpecting (but resigned) Yifan with a shriek. “Don’t scream at me, Sehun!” 

 

Yixing’s done the same, except that he’d squeaked instead of shrieking, and that he’s burrowed into the side of Joonmyeon who has both arms around his same-aged friend. His face is buried in the crook of the leader’s neck and  _ oh my god is Yixing-hyung trembling?  _

 

Lu Han ignores the actions of his countrymen, choosing to drag Sehun over to the couch instead where he plops down beside Yixing, pulling the youngest down with him. It’s a tight fit now, five grown men squeezing their buttocks on the couch but thankfully, they all have rather small butts anyway. Joonmyeon lets out a small sound of freedom (?) when Lu Han reaches over and peels Yixing off him, letting the younger lean on him instead as he gently pats his head. “There, there. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Sehunnie isn’t going to hurt you, Xing.” 

 

At this, Yixing lifts his head from Lu Han’s shoulder and looks past Lu Han at Sehun. “Really…? You’re not going to… shout at me? At Zitao?” 

 

The glisten of tears is apparent in Yixing’s eyes, and Sehun mentally curses whoever that made his second– third– first(?)–  _ whichever _ favourite hyung cry. It’s then does it dawn upon him —  _ oh wait, it’s me _ . Ughhhhhh. 

 

“No, I’m not going to.” Sehun answers softly, shaking his head vehemently with a determinedly apologetic look on his face as if to further reinforce his words. Both Yixing and Zitao exchange looks, but when they rest their eyes on Sehun once more, they’re still sceptical, eyes still reflecting the fear felt towards him. And Sehun doesn’t,  _ can’t _ , blame them for it. He had, after all, practically screamed his head off at their  _ ge _ -s, and if his theory is correct, Sehun thinks they’ve deduced that only the Chinese members will be targeted. 

 

_ Well _ , he mentally shrugs,  _ they’re mostly right _ . Except that Yixing hasn’t quit, so there never will be any yelling directed at that hyung. Zitao, though… 

 

Sehun tries hard,  _ very hard _ to not let his mind wander into that despondent territory he’s ventured into one too many times after the third Chinese member had left. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the times and things Joonmyeon has had to do to bring him out of there, to  _ save  _ him from dangerous thoughts that could irrevocably destroy him, them,  _ EXO _ .

 

So it’s with a smile, much more willing and less forced, that Sehun settles himself on the couch, relaxing his body against a now-cheering Lu Han. He flits his gaze across the living room, slightly relieved that the match is keeping the attention of his hyungs and that none of them are meeting with his eyes. Except for one, and his  _ whichever  _ hyung sends him the brightest smile Sehun’s seen for ages. 

  
  


\---

  
  


He had expected himself to be at the center of attention once the others return and the tale of their youngest’s outrageous accusations tattled over the din of celebratory whoops (at their fourth anniversary) and hollers of despair (at the match where Lu Han’s team is losing spectacularly). Sehun isn’t disappointed. 

 

“To the words of our maknae never coming true–”

 

He just hadn’t expected it to turn out like this. 

 

“– _ geonbae _ !” 

 

And eleven glasses surge towards the centre of the lopsided circle, clanking against one another as their owners happily congratulated their groupmates at the mutual accomplishment with roars and squeals that all speak of one matter —  _ happy four years, EXO!  _

 

The remaining glass that’s not joining in on the festivities stays within its owner’s lap, and it would have remained there foolishly, for its owner had somehow descended into a daze stemming from the ruckus happening around him, if not for a hand gripping the one that’s already holding onto its handle and suddenly the glass finds itself being thrusted into the air, right where its counterparts had been seconds prior. 

 

“ _Shixun_ ’s dozing off! He hasn’t toasted with us yet!” Lu Han’s (drunken) roar on his left snaps Sehun out of his stupor and he vaguely registers a mess of hands heading towards his poor, lone glass in the middle before a collective  _ clang  _ rings out within EXO’s living room, and Sehun clearly hears the one thing he hasn’t heard twelve voices say since–

 

“WE ARE–”

 

“–ONE!”

 

And Sehun retracts his glass at the same time his hyungs do the same, bringing the rim to his lips and throwing his head back, the boy downs the entirety of it in a single mouthful. He mentally thanks Yifan for teaching him to drink and faintly feels warmth that’s definitely not because of the beverage spreading within him. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Sehun tilts his head down and automatically turns to his left to shoot a silly grin at Lu Han. Except that it’s not Lu Han. 

 

“Something wrong, Hun? Your eyes are tearing, and your pupils are swimming. Shit, you shouldn’t have drank that glass in one shot...” 

 

But Sehun isn’t listening. His senses seemed to have shut down the moment his eyes  _ see _ the person who’s sitting next to him. Joonmyeon’s lips are moving, facial expression showing how worried and confused his hyung is about him and whatever his hands are coming up to gesture at, but Sehun’s mind isn’t processing any of it. In fact, it’s rapidly trying to process  _ why the fuck is Joonmyeon-hyung next to me. Where is Lu Han.  _

 

His eyes tear themselves away from Joonmyeon. 

 

_ Where is Yifan-hyung? _

 

He looks away from the space between Kyungsoo and Baekhyun. 

 

_ Where… is Zitao? _

 

Sehun pauses in his movement, eyes staring at Jongdae because that’s where… Wait.  _ What about– _

 

He whirls around, and around once more when he doesn’t see the last remaining Chinese member sitting amongst the mess of boys in the room until he feels a puff of warmth on his thigh, and Sehun immediately looks down. His worry vanishes instantly. “Thank goodness. You’re still here, Yixing-hyung…” Sehun cards his free hand through a sleepy Yixing’s tresses, letting the softness of his hyung’s hair calm him down as he still attempts to process what the hell had happened in the span of a second. A blink of an eye. He doesn’t reach an answer.

 

It’s only when his head begins to pound, his vision spotting and minutes later as an ever-worried Joonmyeon’s hand reaches up to his forehead and he feels a cool fabric pressing against his forehead does Sehun remember.  _ Oh yeah, I’m running a fever _ . 

 

So as Jongin proposes another toast with the meager amounts of drinks they have left of the dozens that Baekhyun and Jongdae have managed to procure (scandal-free) from a supermarket, Sehun raises his empty glass and resignedly dismisses it as a dream, a hallucination stemming from his fever.  _ Yeah, that’s got to be it.  _

 

_ Because– _

 

“WE. ARE–” 

 

_ –is said by nine– _

 

“ONE!”

 

_ –not twelve.  _

  
  


\---

  
  
  


He taps on an icon. Taps on a folder. Then, he scrolls through hundreds, thousands perhaps, of thumbnails — of his adorable dog, of his mother, of friends and colleagues — only to rest on a single one that, despite its size, his eyes manage to catch before it disappears off the screen of his phone. His thumb gently taps on it, and the small thumbnail grows instantly, filling the screen with its enlarged version. 

 

A sigh. 

 

His eyes flit from face to face, the corners of his lips pulling ever so slightly with each face he registers from the photograph. The smile seems to spread even wider when he rests his eyes upon the final face, right beside his own. He manages to suppress the breathless giggle that rises up his throat that always comes whenever he sees that face, and he quickly exits the page, thumb darting downwards and it taps on another icon. He scrolls, eyes seeing but not really seeing as scores of characters typed in languages that he’s learnt to read, in both his childhood and adolescence, blur on the screen. 

 

The blur ends when his eyes, once again, sharply register two characters in a language he’s studied in his adolescent years. His thumb taps on it. The smile on his face widens with the bout of excitement washing over him, only to fall, gradually, as his thumb hovers above the name for a time period that’s too long one normally associates with a person who wishes to call the other. 

 

In the end, he watches the screen go dark and tosses his phone away from him. It lands next to his laptop where an article written in the language he’s been saying and hearing since childhood loads on the screen. Only four words catch his attention as he reaches over and promptly closes the lid. 

 

_ Happy fourth anniversary, EXO! _

  
  


\---

  
  


ii.

 

It happens when he’s finally decided to stop torturing himself with articles speaking of a past adventure that he has to sign himself out of. 

 

Honestly, he hasn’t expected it to happen. It’s been days, weeks,  _ no _ , months since he’s seen that name appearing on his phone screen. So he can’t be blamed when he finds himself tapping on the alert with far more exhilaration than one is supposed to have when reading a text from an ex-adventurer. Yet, he allows his eyes to flit from character to character, taking in the meaning of sentences in a language that he’s been taught in his later years instead of in his childhood. Of course, who learns the language of another country’s when he’s but a wee lad with no future in anywhere but his homeland?

 

Yet, he reads, and at the end of it all, he tastes saltiness at the corners of his lips. He pretends to not notice, but allows himself a small smile as he reads the last few words. 

 

_ Happy four years, ge.  _

  
  


\---

  
  


iii.

 

His eyes aren’t actually seeing, much less reading, the paragraphs of words typed in one of the many languages he’s studied in his early years. The script feels heavy in his hands, the tens or hundreds of pages of lines that he has to commit to memory adding stress to his already-burdened shoulders. If he adds on the weight of the role he’s acting (albeit rather minor), plus the fact it’s his first foray into a foreign market, he can fucking say that he’s carrying the entirety of his future on his shoulders. This movie either makes him, or breaks him. 

 

And that sucks. But it doesn’t suck as much as discovering a short text hidden amongst the bombardment of messages from family, colleagues, and other friends. 

 

He was just scrolling through, the most recent text alerting him to various other messages sent from others and just when he’s reaching the end of the list, eyes just skimming through the names and previews, he sees it. A name that he hasn’t seen on his screen for almost two years, accompanied by a sentence typed in, perhaps, the most recent language he had to learn in order to take a small step towards his dream. 

 

He inhaled sharply, drawing the attention of no one in his trailer, and he quickly contemplates the pros and cons of tapping on the message, of facing the person he might as well have abandoned for his own, admittedly selfish, desires that do not include the people he had grown to love and care for. His mind worked hastily, and came to a decision seconds later. He scrolled past it, but didn’t delete it. 

 

That action is something that he regrets now, as he stares at the same preview, the same name. His curiosity of the text had won over the urgency of memorising the lines that he has to perform the next day, and he had all but scrambled towards the bedroom, threw himself onto his bed, hands reaching towards his phone on the bedside table. His thumb now hovers over the message and just when he thinks he’s going to delete it, thumb readying itself to swipe left and tap on the red  _ delete _ , a loud crash startles him and what do you know. 

 

He taps on it. 

 

And his eyes instantly begin to read. At the end of it all, he lets his phone slip from his hand, draping it over his glistening eyes. The immense weight on his shoulders vanishes in that moment. He feels light, airy,  _ free _ . Then, he smiles. 

 

_ You may not be with us right now as we celebrate our fourth year, but I had imagined that you were, hyung.  _


End file.
